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<h1><a href="https://archiveofourown.org/works/24531424">Condemning Dolores</a> by <a class='authorlink' href='https://archiveofourown.org/users/Ladybug_21/pseuds/Ladybug_21'>Ladybug_21</a></h1>

<table class="full">

<tr><td><b>Category:</b></td><td>Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Genre:</b></td><td>Adult Golden Trio, Gen, Ministry of Magic Politics, Post-Battle of Hogwarts, Post-Traumatic Stress Disorder - PTSD, badass Hermione, transitional justice</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Language:</b></td><td>English</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Status:</b></td><td>Completed</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Published:</b></td><td>2020-06-07</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Updated:</b></td><td>2020-06-07</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Packaged:</b></td><td>2021-05-04 09:53:30</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Rating:</b></td><td>Teen And Up Audiences</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Warnings:</b></td><td>Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Chapters:</b></td><td>1</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Words:</b></td><td>18,184</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Publisher:</b></td><td>archiveofourown.org</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Story URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/works/24531424</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Author URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/users/Ladybug_21/pseuds/Ladybug_21</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Summary:</b></td><td><div class="userstuff">
              <p>After Umbridge's death, Hermione reflects on the political process of holding her to account—and on the impact of Umbridge's reign of terror even long after the fact.</p>
            </div></td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Relationships:</b></td><td>Hermione Granger &amp; Harry Potter, Hermione Granger/Ron Weasley</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Comments:</b></td><td>10</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Kudos:</b></td><td>33</td></tr>

</table>

<a name="section0001"><h2>Condemning Dolores</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Author's Note:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
      <p>I started this story way back in November 2014, after this interesting <a href="https://ew.com/article/2014/10/31/pottermore-umbridge-story-jk-rowling/">tidbit</a> came out on Pottermore (a site with which I am otherwise entirely unfamiliar, so please understand my version of canon to be tethered to the seven original books and not go beyond). And I've been doodling away at it on and off over the years, ever since. But there's a lot going on in the world right now, and it felt like an appropriate time to finally finish this exploration. I obviously own zero rights to <em>Harry Potter</em>.</p>
    </blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>
  <strong> <em>Azkaban</em> </strong>
</p><p>"Here you go, ma'am," grunted the warden, twisting the rusted key in its lock.  When a metallic shriek announced the lock's begrudging acquiescence, the warden threw his shoulder into the heavy door; it shuddered on its aging hinges as it unwillingly swung open with many a grating groan.  "Cell number 19, just as requested."</p><p>"Thank you," replied Hermione Granger, sniffing in polite distaste at the reek of damp as she stepped inside the cell and raised her illuminated wand for a better look.  She was struck with the impression of an underwater grotto, shadowed and bedecked with lacy seaweeds, in the brief moment before the light flickered and faded.</p><p>"What...?"</p><p>"No magic permissible within these cells," explained the warden, a stout little wizard with stringy hair who smelled of pea soup and whose eyes seemed to have squinted in adjustment to the darkness of his workplace over the years.  "Highest level of security here at Azkaban, which makes it almost impossible for the prisoners to perform any sort of wanded or wandless magic.  Applies to registered visitors, too, just in case they... well, you of all people would be familiar with the sorts of folks who aid and abet escaping prisoners."</p><p>He had pulled a damp box of matches from within his coat pocket as he spoke and, with some difficulty, managed to get one to flare long enough to light a dusty, wax-spattered lantern that sat near the door.</p><p>"Indeed," said Hermione grimly.  "Although, fortunately, such concerns haven't been nearly as pressing in recent years, given the decrease in levels of Dark magical activities, and the substantial improvement in personnel."</p><p>"Eh, well."  The warden gently blew the flame of the candle to life, smirking a bit at the compliment.  "We may not be as bloody terrifying as our predecessors, but, apologising for any cheek, I'll agree with the fact that we at least can tell who's who around our prison.  No Barty Crouch, Jr, type nonsense on our watch, no, ma'am."</p><p>Hermione smiled.  She had only been to Azkaban a handful of times, but even with the Dementors gone, the place still made the hairs on the back of her neck stand on end.  One would have thought that decades of living in the wizarding world would have destroyed any sense of superstition that a witch—especially one as sensible as Hermione—might have had, but she still had the unnerving feeling that Azkaban was haunted, in the strictest Muggle sense of the term.  As she had never heard any of the guards at the prison speak of the Dementors by name, either, she suspected that she was not the only one who felt as much.</p><p>"Thank you," she said again, taking the sputtering lantern from the warden.</p><p>"At your service," he said, doffing his cap and replacing it on his stringy hair.  "If the light goes out, just give a shout, and we'll come set it right."</p><p><em>Heaven forbid</em>, thought Hermione to herself, and, with the warden's footsteps echoing ever softer up the hall, she turned to face the cell.</p><hr/><p>
  <em> <strong>London, a few days prior</strong> </em>
</p><p>"Why?" Ron had asked a few days ago, turning towards her with an expression that might have implied that his mouth was filled with Bubotuber pus, rather than toast and marmalade.</p><p>"Closure, I suppose," she had shrugged, flipping the page of <em>The Prophet</em> and pushing her glasses up her nose.  (She was still adjusting to needing them for the extensive amounts of reading that her job required.  Harry reacted with bemused sympathy, of course; Ron complained that he felt increasingly as if he had accidentally married Professor McGonagall.)</p><p>Ron responded with a noise that might have been disgust and might have been him choking on his breakfast.  She ignored him as he finished spreading marmalade on the other half of his toast and brought his plate over from the counter.</p><p>"You may have finally lost it, 'Mione," he said, taking a seat at the kitchen table and seizing his tea.  "If you want my opinion, 'closure' meant seeing that toad tossed behind bars.  Haven't thought about her since, and I don't regret it."</p><p>Hermione flicked down the top of her newspaper and scowled at Ron over the rims of her glasses.</p><p>"Well, perhaps if you'd worked on her prosecution like I did, you'd have learned things about her that would have made her less easy to forget, Ronald."</p><p>"Oh, for Merlin's sake, <em>Minerva</em>," Ron retorted, which is what he always called her now whenever he felt she was acting too strict, "you told me all the juicy gossip that people wrung out of that experience, and I've been able to sleep at night!  Why can't you just let it go, and move on with life?"</p><p>Normally, Hermione could easily shake off Ron's gruff remarks, but this time she found herself asking herself the same question over and over.  Although she managed to put her nose to the grindstone and focus on her work well enough during the morning, she was not at all surprised to find herself outside the Auror Office by lunchtime.</p><p>"Hello," she said, peering around the door and wandering tentatively into the office, "I was wondering if...?"</p><p>"I'll see if he's in," answered Harry's new assistant, a fresh-faced young witch who still seemed inexplicably excited whenever Hermione appeared to ask for Harry.  (Harry had explained several months ago, when the new assistant had started, that the witch had considered Hermione a personal hero ever since childhood.  Hermione still found this very odd, especially since she felt that she had only become increasingly boring with age.   Harry, who had lived with the problem of celebrity for far longer than Hermione, had been sympathetic.)</p><p>But, of course, as soon as the witch had scampered off to see if her supervisor was around, Harry himself opened the door straight into Hermione.</p><p>"Ouch!"</p><p>"Ah, damn it!  I'm so sorry, I... Hermione!"</p><p>"How are you, Harry?" she asked, rubbing the small of her back where the doorknob had slammed into it.</p><p>"Could be better," replied Harry, who had just spilled hot coffee all over himself in the process of opening the door.</p><p>"Here, let me," she sighed, siphoning the coffee out of his shirt and sitting down on one of the couches in the waiting area.  "Rough meeting this morning?"</p><p>"How could you tell?"</p><p>"Most calm people don't open doors quite so violently."</p><p>"Yeah, sorry," winced Harry.  "Been kind of distracted.  Much as Kingsley and I respect each other, I'm on the verge of tearing my hair out over how I feel about his handling of these negotiations with this group of warlocks in Vladivostok, and I daresay that Kingsley feels the same way."</p><p>Hermione was on the verge of pointing out that the Minister for Magic no longer had any hair left to tear, but decided to stay quiet instead.</p><p>"Can I distract you for an hour or so?"</p><p>"Please," said Harry, chucking his empty coffee cup into the wastepaper basket under the receptionist's desk just as she re-entered the room.  "Pritha, I'll be out for the next hour or two, so please apologise to the Minister if he tries to get in touch, yet again."</p><p>Hermione loved going to lunch with Harry for many reasons, but if there was an added bonus to the sound advice and lively conversation that he provided, it was also the fact that he was often willing to go with her to Muggle restaurants to which she would never dare go with Ron.  As they crossed from Whitehall onto Trafalgar Square, surrounded by an early afternoon rush of cars and red double-decker buses, she was pleased to notice that they didn't look a jot out of place in the Muggle business attire for which they had swapped their robes.</p><p>"What are all of these people doing out in the middle of the day?" Harry asked incredulously.</p><p>"No idea.  Tourists?"</p><p>"Yeah, probably.  Everyone waving a phone about, taking photos, at any rate."</p><p>"I'm impressed.  You're actually keeping up to date with Muggle technology."</p><p>"My cousin Dudley's always up on the latest trends.  Not that I see him that much, but when I do, he's always checking his messages on the latest gadget available."</p><p>"My mum and dad love it.  They say it's the closest thing they've got to magic, actually."</p><p>"Yeah.  Kind of incredible, when you think about it, to realise that just solid science and engineering will get you that far."</p><p>"Mmm."  Hermione made a mental note of the Impressionist exhibit on at the National Gallery, as they passed by; she rarely ever remembered to make such excursions out to the Muggle world, but whenever she saw a new advertisement for something that sounded appealing, she always promised herself that she would actually go this time, maybe take the kids, if they happened to be home from school and interested in going.  "If only everyone stepped back and took that as evidence that Muggles aren't as stupid as wizards always assume."</p><p>She fell back into a pensive mood, bordering on brooding, and Harry had the good sense to let her just think.  It had been a while since he had last gotten a chance to stroll up Charing Cross Road and observe the goings-on of a typical day in London, anyway, and he was always grateful to find that it hadn't changed a jot, despite all of the minor chaos and seismic shifts that jolted his sense of self daily below ground at the Ministry.</p><p>"Here we go..."</p><p>They pushed open the door to a bustling new Asian fusion restaurant in Covent Garden and took a seat at the back.  Harry exhaled happily as he looked around at the other patrons.</p><p>"Utter anonymity," he muttered.  "And unagi donburi, to boot.  Neither of which we could have gotten if we’d gone anywhere on Diagon Alley.  I'd say we certainly know how to pick and choose from the best parts of both worlds, don't we, Hermione?"</p><p>She nodded slowly, a very slight frown creasing her brow.</p><p>Harry waited until they had both ordered to ask what was on Hermione's mind, then readied himself for her response.  By now, she could recognise how he physically prepared himself to listen to someone's problems, by leaning in slightly and folding his hands on the table in front of him.  She suddenly realised that it seemed so familiar because it was very similar to what Dumbledore had always done.</p><p>"I don't suppose you're ever morbid enough to read the obituaries in <em>The Prophet</em>?" she began.</p><p>One side of Harry's mouth twitched upwards in amusement.</p><p>"Not usually," he answered, "but it also caught my eye this morning, for some reason.  Brought back a lot of memories."</p><p>"Same," said Hermione, glancing down at where Harry's hands were folded on the table, fingers interlaced.  The words were still there, etched in fine white scar on Harry's skin.  <em>I must not tell lies</em>.</p><p>"Do you find it strange," she asked, "that I want to go see her cell in Azkaban?"</p><p>Harry frowned slightly and shrugged as he took a sip of green tea.</p><p>"Not strange," he said slowly, "but I am curious as to why you do."</p><p>"As is Ron.  As am I," she added.</p><p>"Hmm."</p><p>"I think..."  Hermione sighed.  "Look, we'll both agree that we've met our fair share of horrible people, right?  But for some reason, Umbridge is the one who really got to me in a personal sense, the way that none of the others did."</p><p>"You mean, other than the way that Draco Malfoy did that time you slugged him in the face?"</p><p>"Other than that," she conceded.  "I mean, Malfoy was a bully who turned out somewhat decent in the end..."</p><p>"He's actually been downright civil to me, ever since James and Scorpius became friends," Harry added, looking highly pleased with the development.</p><p>"Fine, then, slightly better than decent."  Hermione tugged at a strand of her bushy hair.  "And most of the Death Eaters were either too greedy or too terrified not to do awful things, and then there were the downright mad ones, like Bellatrix Lestrange and Voldemort himself."</p><p>Instinctively, Harry glanced around to be sure that no one in the nearby vicinity had been too alarmed by Hermione's brashness—the taboo against the use of the Dark Lord's name had long outlived the pieces of his split soul—but quickly remembered that they were surrounded by Muggles who wouldn't care anyway.</p><p>"But Umbridge?"</p><p>Hermione sighed into her tea cup, letting warm steam billow up to her face.</p><p>"She was just mean, Harry," she said finally.  "She was spiteful and bigoted, and she really delighted in hurting people and making them feel powerless.  Really, her morality wasn't too far a cry from Voldemort's, except that it stopped just short of killing people."</p><p>"Well, she drove Trelawney to becoming an alcoholic, which wreaked havoc on her health down the line," scowled Harry, taking a sip of tea.  "And her cronies nearly did McGonagall in, that time they were trying to take down Hagrid, remember?"</p><p>"Toad," spat Hermione venomously.  "Honestly, the number of illegal things she did while at Hogwarts is staggering, when you stand back and look at it.  And yet, despite all of that, she was ostensibly on the 'right' side of things, whatever that means.  I think that's what bothered me most, really, was that she was so horrible; but, in accordance with the law of a Government that we still held as fairly legitimate, we still had to obey her stupid, stupid rules."</p><p>"Not that we did," Harry reminded her.</p><p>"Well, of course not.  But it's always bothered me, that Umbridge and Fudge made me stop trusting the institutions that were supposed to be there to protect us.  Hogwarts, the Ministry... Harry, it really scares me to think about how quickly structures created for good purposes can be, I don't know, appropriated for evil means.  No-one questioned that Voldemort and the Death Eaters were evil, but when the Government that in principle <em>opposed</em> Dark magic, started acting evil in its own way, it was so much harder to speak out against it, because it still had that veneer of having good intentions."</p><p>"A sort of perversion of that whole 'the enemy of my enemy is my friend' maxim?"</p><p>"Precisely."</p><p>Harry sat back and stared out over the other people seated at the restaurant, although Hermione sensed that he wasn't really looking at them at all.</p><p>"It's funny," he said finally.  "I mean, obviously you and Ron never knew me before Hogwarts, but you know that my aunt and uncle... well, they weren't exactly very nurturing towards me."</p><p>"Understatement of the Year," Hermione sniffed, crossing her arms in indignation over the very thought of the Dursleys.</p><p>"And I grew up just wishing that I had someone to trust, but until the day that Hagrid came to give me my letter to Hogwarts, I really didn't have anyone.  And it was so strange to enter the magical world, because all of a sudden, I had people who cared about me, and whom I really trusted would be there for me.  Which was incredible, to say the least, especially after only dreaming of such a thing for so long."</p><p>"Oh, Harry..."</p><p>Hermione was tempted to reach out and put her hand on Harry's, but she knew by now that on the few rare occasions he talked about his time with the Dursleys, he preferred to keep it as objective as possible.  Besides, their food had just arrived, and Harry waited patiently for the server to move on before continuing.</p><p>"In any case, I never grew up with any rule-makers that I really respected.  I followed the rules that I had to at my aunt and uncle's, to avoid punishment, but whenever there were rules that didn't make sense to me, or which could be broken without punishment, it only seemed logical to do so, see?  It wasn't like I grew up trusting that the rules that were set down for me were meant to be fair or in my best interest.  So I guess it wasn't nearly so unnerving for me to stop respecting and trusting a Ministry that had lost moral credibility, even if not political legitimacy, because I wasn't used to equating authority with justice.  The only place where I had ever felt that that was true, was at Hogwarts.  And then only for the teachers there who didn’t shower me with loathing on a daily basis," he added.</p><p>Hermione smiled wistfully.</p><p>"Looking back on it, having our House points count sabotaged arbitrarily seemed like such a disaster, didn't it, but he really came through where it mattered."</p><p>"Yes, he did."  Harry scratched his head and smiled slightly.  "Even his portrait seems to have grown begrudgingly fond of my occasional visits."</p><p>"Is that so.  You know, until you'd mentioned it, I'd forgotten that it was there.  Is McGonagall's up yet?"</p><p>"Yeah, I think they appear automatically when any Headmaster or Headmistress dies, don't they?  Or, I should say, when any legitimate Headmaster or Headmistress dies.  It did for Dumbledore's portrait, at least.  The only reason Snape's didn't go up immediately is because it took so long for everyone to sort out whose side he was really on."  Harry's smile widened into a grin.  "Blimey, can you just imagine what would happen if Umbridge's portrait somehow ended up on that wall?"</p><p>"That depends—can portraits actually destroy each other?"</p><p>"I wouldn't put it past Snape and McGonagall to figure out some way to do it, if it meant getting rid of dear old Dolores.  Surely something as trivial as death wouldn’t prevent their grudges from living on?"</p><p>Hermione picked up a grain of rice with her chopsticks and let it drop back into her bowl.</p><p>"God, I feel old sometimes.  I mean, it's funny, we lost so many people during the war, but it's perhaps even stranger now that our friends and mentors have started dying of natural causes."</p><p>"Although at least our enemies have started dying of natural causes, too."  Harry chewed a bite of eel reflectively.  "You know why I think you might be harbouring such strong feelings of hatred for Umbridge, Hermione?"</p><p>"Why?"</p><p>"Three things, really.  First of all, she was quite honestly the worst teacher that we ever had.  I mean, we had our share of biased professors, and werewolf professors, and professors who were secretly Dark wizards trying to kill me, but at least I learned <em>something</em> substantive from all of them.  Except for Lockhart, of course, who was genuinely incompetent," Harry added after a moment of thought, "but let's not bring him into this."</p><p>"Thank you," muttered Hermione, flushing slightly in embarrassment.</p><p>"The point being, I'm convinced that even Professor Binns came to class every day of his, well, life and death, with the intention to teach his students, even if all of us (except for you) just fell asleep at our desks.  But we only ever had one teacher who actively <em>tried</em> to prevent us from learning anything useful, who was actively <em>against</em> the pursuit of knowledge, and that to you was intolerable."</p><p>"Well, it was to you, too," argued Hermione.</p><p>"Yeah, but I think that you were the only one who took such a <em>moral</em> affront to the fact that we weren’t gaining knowledge that we had a right to be gaining.  After all, you were the one who organised Dumbledore’s Army and insisted that we start teaching ourselves all of the things that Umbridge was trying to prevent us from learning, while the rest of us would've been just as happy to help Fred and George and Peeves cause trouble."</p><p>"Fair enough," Hermione conceded.</p><p>"Secondly, Umbridge was an opportunist.  She capitalised on chaos and fear to make herself feel important by bullying others.  And, like you just said, it was sneaky, because she used positions and institutions that people wanted to trust, to do what she wanted, which made it hard to trust anyone but ourselves, in the end."</p><p>"And lastly?"</p><p>Harry shrugged slightly.</p><p>"Lastly... I mean, Voldemort at least was a somewhat equal-opportunity mass murderer, right?"</p><p>"What on earth, Harry?" Hermione half-snorted in horrified laughter.</p><p>"No, listen.  Voldemort had very simple and easy reason for hating us and all of our friends and allies, because we opposed his taking power.  And he targeted anyone who fulfilled that criterion, no matter who they were, old or young, strong or weak, 'pureblood' or Muggle-born.  But even if he relied on ancient hierarchies to form the base of his movement, he was willing to accept into his fold werewolves and giants and really anyone that supported his ascendancy.  And that's what was different about Umbridge, you see?  For her, it wasn't about what people thought or did, it was about what they <em>were</em>, in her eyes.  Much as I hate to credit Voldemort for anything, at least he identified his enemies using something more substantive than pure bigotry."</p><p>"I mean, that's true, but… but at least she never <em>killed</em> anyone, for all of her Inquisition tactics… it wasn't exactly like she was another Hitler, or anything…"</p><p>"Perhaps not," said Harry quietly, "but, Hermione, when before or since have you been so close to being a target of state-sanctioned persecution yourself?  Setting aside the fact that she wanted the three of us personally arrested for rebelling against her perverted Ministry, you would have been the most directly impacted by her dictates.  And obviously you’ve got a strong sense of social justice on a lot of fronts, but I think that the personal closeness that you had towards all of this might have affected you more than you realised at the time, coming so close to being the victim of a campaign that you never even provoked."</p><p>Hermione pursed her lips in thought as Harry signalled the waiter to bring them their bill.</p><p>"Anyway, that's just my sense of it all," he concluded.  "And this has been a very interesting reversal of roles."</p><p>"What do you mean?" asked Hermione.</p><p>"Well, you know," Harry shrugged, grinning.  "You spent a lot of our childhood explaining to Ron and me why exactly we were feeling the way that we were feeling, if you hadn’t noticed, which was always amazing to us.  I guess I'm pleasantly surprised that I'm now mature enough to reciprocate."</p><p>"Indeed."  Hermione smiled wryly.  "Now if only Ron would reach the same point of maturity…"</p><p>"Nah, that would be just too weird, and plus, he's got you around all the time to explain to him why he's doing what he's doing.  How is he, by the way?"</p><p>"Fine.  I think he's only just getting over not having the kids at home.  It's taken some effort to convince him that he shouldn't try to find an excuse to go up to Hogwarts every other week to check in."</p><p>"We've all been there, though," laughed Harry, taking the bill from the server.</p><p>"Oh no, I think I forgot my credit card," Hermione sighed, riffling through her purse.  "As well as all of the pounds that I have from the last time I went to visit my mum and dad.  I promise I'll pay you back in Sickles."</p><p>"Don't worry about it.  This one's on me, for nearly crippling you back at my office."</p><p>"Stop it, Harry, you're being so melodramatic, but if you insist, then thank you."</p><p>As they emerged back into the crisp sunlight of an October afternoon, Harry suddenly grinned.</p><p>"Well, tell me how it goes, visiting Azkaban," he said, buttoning up his wool coat and shoving his hands into his pockets.</p><p>"Of course," said Hermione, pausing as she pulled her gloves on to raise an eyebrow at Harry.  "What's so funny?"</p><p>Harry shrugged.</p><p>"It's a bit like when my kids were little and used to ask me check under their beds for monsters, isn't it?" he said.  "Maybe the reason you want to see the cell is just to confirm for yourself that she’s really gone."</p><hr/><p>
  <strong> <em>Azkaban</em> </strong>
</p><p>Umbridge may have gone, but what meagre belongings she had been permitted to bring with her to Azkaban were still strewn about her cell.  Hermione lifted the lantern so that its sputtering light glanced across the tiny space, taking in a tattered knit shawl that hung spectrally from a small wooden chair, and a lace doily that might once have been white, placed carefully on the small wooden table.  A spartan bed squeezed into the far corner was covered with a ratty quilt made of sewn squares in various shades of pink, darned many times over but still revealing tufts of cotton where rodents of some sort had chewed through.  More dirty lace was draped down the wall behind the bed, like a sort of horrible, sickly, ineffectual tapestry.  It was a bit like how she had always imagined Miss Havisham's drawing room, Hermione realised, except that she had always felt sorry for Dickens's eccentric jilted bride.  After all, she reflected grimly, fictional characters could never hurt you, the way real people could.</p><p>A tattered copy of <em>The</em> <em>Daily Prophet</em> lay on the bedspread, and Hermione idly wandered towards the bed and flicked it open.  Inside were sundry articles about the wizarding budgeting crisis being caused by isolationist politics in Muggle Britain, about an extension of Flourish and Blotts finally opening in Hogsmeade (<em>about time</em>, thought Hermione), and about the recent shifts in personnel at Hogwarts.  On one page was a photograph of the recently deceased Professor McGonagall, and on the page opposite was a photograph of Interim Headmistress Sprout.  Professor Sprout winked at Hermione, and Hermione smiled.  The Interim Headmistress's hand rested on the shoulder of the new Herbology professor, Neville Longbottom, whose sheepish grin from the page was nonetheless undergirded by quiet pride.</p><p>Hermione couldn't help but remember how Neville (ever a lightweight) got endearingly tipsy on his last night in London before he left for Hogwarts, bought two rounds of drinks for everyone in the Leaky Cauldron, and, after the pub had cleared out, sobbed at Hermione over how his gran had just sent him an owl telling him that she hadn't been so proud of him since the day he helped defeat You-Know-Who.</p><p>"I just wish I'd been hired because someone had <em>retired</em>, though," Neville had sniffled at Hermione, who patted him on the arm consolingly and vowed silently never again to let Neville near anything stronger than Butterbeer.  "I mean, Gran couldn't be more chuffed that I'm going to be a <em>professor</em>, of all things, but she and McGonagall had been good friends since they were in school, so it's bittersweet for her, you know?"</p><p>Hermione hadn't bothered reading much of the printed news on the goings-on at Hogwarts; as she now sat on the school's Board, she relied more on internal releases than whatever <em>The Prophet</em> chose to publish.  But as she skimmed the article, grinning at Professor Sprout's glowing commendations of Neville, she paused at a short paragraph towards the end of the article and frowned.</p><p>
  <em>A Healer at St Mungo's, speaking anonymously, revealed to our reporters that the late Minerva McGonagall had sought frequent treatment at the Hospital in the months preceding her death.  The source confided that the former Headmistress of Hogwarts exhibited heart problems uncharacteristic of a witch her age, likely exacerbated by a critical magical injury to the chest that forced Ms McGonagall to take a temporary hiatus from teaching in the spring of 1996.</em>
</p><p>Someone (probably Harry) had shared that hypothesis with Hermione recently, that Minerva's intervention in Umbridge's attack on Hagrid had had something to do with the fact that the Headmistress had died at a surprisingly young age.  But that didn't keep Hermione from reading the paragraph over and over, her mind trying to process the idea fully.  How many other lives had been cut short by Umbridge, directly or indirectly?  Sybill Trelawney was still alive, in a manner of speaking, but Hermione had heard that the alcohol dependency that had been sparked by Umbridge's reign of terror at Hogwarts meant that the Seer's already-tenuous grip on reality was increasingly slipping.  Hagrid was still his ever-optimistic self, but Hermione knew that that was only because Hagrid had very thick skin, in every sense of the phrase.  And while none of the Muggle-borns that had suffered degradation, imprisonment, and torture at Umbridge's hands had actually <em>died</em>, Hermione found it impossible to believe that they had all avoided deep psychological trauma that may have manifested itself in any number of ways in the years following Voldemort's defeat.</p><p>Hermione stopped trying to finish the <em>Prophet</em> article, knowing that her mind was too preoccupied to focus.  Instead, she stared absently at the photograph of Neville and Professor Sprout waving at her, and reflected on the tremendous irony of the fact that somehow, despite Basilisk attacks and plots by Dark wizards, she had never felt less safe at Hogwarts than during the brief tenure of High Inquisitor-turned-Headmistress Umbridge.</p><hr/><p>
  <strong> <em>Hogwarts, after the War</em> </strong>
</p><p>It had never occurred to Hermione that the Hogwarts Express ran at times other than the start and close of term, so she was both bemused and startled to find herself on the familiar train, surrounded not by throngs of excited students, but by a handful of older witches and wizards who sat silently in the corners of their individual compartments, watching the countryside speed by or perusing newspapers and books.  One or two of them turned to stare at her as she peered in through their doors, their eyes widening in recognition; after all, every newspaper in the country had sported huge photographs of Harry, Ron, and herself amidst the rubble of Hogwarts daily for nearly a month after Voldemort's defeat.  Seating herself at long last in an empty compartment with a sigh, Hermione realised with amazement that that momentous battle had been not even half a year ago.</p><p>And yet, for all the English countryside and Scottish Highlands might not show it, everything had changed since then.  People stopped her in the streets to ask for photographs and autographs.  Kingsley, as Minister for Magic, had presented her and her two ridiculous best friends with Orders of Merlin, First Class, at a ceremony in the Wizengamot chamber, the month previous.  Her parents were currently at St Mungo's, and only just beginning to remember her name when she came to visit.  She now wore an engagement ring, which she wouldn't have chosen herself, but which she cherished anyway because Ron had bought the most expensive ring that he could find, in his excitement upon receiving the money that came with the Order of Merlin.  There was a sense of euphoria that still pervaded the air on strolls down the streets of wizarding London in the evening; even though it was now October, and the air was chilly, people still greeted each other exuberantly in front of shops and pubs on Diagon Alley, joyful simply to be alive and to no longer live in fear.</p><p>And Hermione was now an adult, a resident of London (living in Camden with her fiancé), running a governmental ad hoc commission, and an international heroine, to boot.  All this, she reflected with an ironic grin as she disembarked from the train, and she still hadn’t formally completed her schooling yet, although she fully intended to speak to the Headmistress about that point, before returning home that evening.</p><p>The solemnity of autumn had swept across the landscape.  Light winds rustled the grasses as they glanced off the faces of the slopes and rises, before racing back upward into the grey sky.  Although it was only early afternoon, the lights were already flaring into life all around Hogsmeade; pine-scented smoke wafted from chimneys to mingle with the mouth-watering aromas of fresh mince pies and some new cinnamon-based concoction that jolly residents kept bringing out of the Three Broomsticks in steaming ceramic mugs.  Compared to London, Hogsmeade was like one of those tiny decorative villages that Hermione's mother used to set up on the mantelpiece at Christmastime, the sort whose windows all lit up merrily when plugged in.</p><p>Hermione walked cheerfully over the cobblestones to the door of the pub, wishing that she were here to meet Ron or Harry or really anyone she actually liked.  But work was work, and so, with a small sigh, she pushed open the door and entered.</p><p>She was immediately greeted with a roar from all of the patrons, many of whom strode forward to wring her hand.</p><p>"What’ll it be, Miss Granger?" shouted Madam Rosmerta over the din.</p><p>"What do you recommend?" Hermione yelled back.</p><p>"Hot apple cider loaded with cinnamon and a dash of bourbon," Madam Rosmerta roared in reply.  "On the house, of course."</p><p>Hermione gave her a thumbs-up, and, smiling and nodding to the adoring crowd surrounding her, pushed her way to the bar.</p><p>"I told her she should go to the back room," Madam Rosmerta muttered to Hermione as she slid a warm mug of cider into her hand.  "Good luck with everything."</p><p>"Thanks so much," Hermione replied, and Madam Rosmerta winked at her.</p><p>The back room was considerably quieter; in fact, the only person in it was a surly witch seated with her back to the door, aggressively sipping a Firewhiskey.</p><p>"You're late," she said without turning around.</p><p>"Thank you for meeting with me, Rita," Hermione said, sliding into the bench across from her.</p><p>"Not like I had much choice in the matter, is there?" sniffed Rita Skeeter, her square jaw slightly clenched.  "Aren't you ever going to release your gag order on me?  I've been useful to you, haven't I?  Helped you get out that interview with Harry Potter…"</p><p>At the mere mention of Harry's name, Rita's scarlet-taloned hand convulsed, as if yearning of its own accord to seize the end of the Quick-Quotes Quill stuffed into her purse only inches away.</p><p>"And wrote an arguably defamatory biography of Professor Dumbledore," Hermione reminded her, scowling.</p><p>"Now, now, Miss Priss, even you have to admit that my facts check out pretty cleanly in that book," laughed Rita nastily, examining her nails.  "Well, most of them at any rate."</p><p>"But your research methods…"</p><p>"Can never be proven illegal, since my primary source was devoured by a large, snake-shaped piece of evil soul," replied Rita coolly.  "Or had you forgotten so soon?"</p><p>Hermione shuddered involuntarily, and Rita quirked an eyebrow at her, smirking.</p><p>"Well, in any case, that book brought in a windfall for me, and did little to no harm to Harry Potter and his ragtag crew of heroic sidekicks," she concluded.  "So you can't say I’ve broken any 'agreement' that we've made with each other, and unless you have anything meaningful to say, I happen to have better things to do than sit around reminiscing on the bad old days with you."</p><p>"The feeling's mutual, Rita," replied Hermione, folding her hands and leaning forward across the table, "but as it so happens, I could use your help doing a little background research."</p><p>"You could use my help doing a little background research," mimicked Rita in a simpering voice.  "And what would be in it for me?"</p><p>"The chance to write as juicy and unpleasant a feature story as you desire on a subject, to be published in all of the major wizarding papers across the country," said Hermione.</p><p>"And who would my subject be?" yawned Rita.  "I don't suppose I should get my hopes up that you'll say yourself?"</p><p>"Dolores Umbridge."</p><p>Rita's eyes flew open and she leaned forward with perhaps a bit more enthusiasm than she meant to express.</p><p>"Dolores Umbridge," she breathed greedily.  "Well, I'll have to think about it, of course.  It will provide a challenge, no doubt, especially since there's surprisingly little known about her history for someone so prominent in the Ministry… but, of course, that's where all of the biggest scandals lie, don't they, in the most shadowy depths of people’s pasts…"</p><p>Her hand twitched towards her purse again.  Hermione took a sip of cinnamon cider and put her mug down calmly.</p><p>"Of course, you should understand that this article would be written and released only after the initial facts on which it's based have been delivered to and verified by the Ad-Hoc Commission, in conjunction with Miss Umbridge's pending trial before the Wizengamot," she explained.  "That means including a list of all of your sources, so that we can follow up for additional details, and to reassure ourselves that all of your information is, in fact, accurate…"</p><p>"Oh, fine, if you really must," snapped Rita, twanging one of her rigid curls.  "Though I think some might call it cheating, using me to do your dirty work for your little commission."</p><p>"I’d say it's resourcefulness," replied Hermione levelly.  "If there's a lead out there, I can trust that you'll follow it to its bitter end, using prying and spying methods that I can't even begin to dream of, especially not in an official capacity.  You are quite truly the most impressive muckraker I know."</p><p>Rita puffed herself up a bit, shaking her curls out of her face.</p><p>"The term we prefer, my dear," she said condescendingly, "is <em>investigative journalist</em>."</p><p>But she clinked her Firewhiskey flagon against Hermione’s mug regardless.</p><p><em>That could have gone much worse</em>, thought Hermione to herself as she re-emerged into the chilly air of Hogsmeade.  It was still light, but biting enough that she was not exactly relishing the long walk from the village to the castle, although she supposed that at least it would get her blood circulating.  With a sigh that blossomed into a visible cloud, she trudged back down towards the Hogsmeade gates, and stopped just outside of them to rummage in her bag for mittens.</p><p>Something nudged Hermione's shoulder, and she jumped when she turned and discovered a skeletal horse face only inches from hers.  Hagrid must have been told that she would be arriving; Hermione didn't think that anyone else would necessarily have sent a Thestral, of all things, down to the village to collect her.  But she smiled slightly as she clambered onto its back and braced herself for flight.  It was nice to know that some things—like Hagrid's fondness for terrifying creatures, and inability to understand others' unease with them—would never change.</p><p>Over the Forbidden Forest they soared, the lake a sullen pewter in the distance, towards the familiar castle.  Riding a Thestral actually wasn't as terrifying as Hermione remembered, although she supposed it helped that this time, she could actually see the animal that was carrying her.  The Thestral seemed much more attuned to her comfort than a broom or Buckbeak the Hippogriff had ever been, and its huge leathery wings cut the air smoothly and levelly at every stroke.</p><p>As the edge of the forest neared, Hermione tapped awkwardly on the Thestral's bony shoulder.</p><p>"Er, excuse me?"</p><p>It wheeled its skull-like head around and regarded her with one white, pupil-less eye.</p><p>"Would it be too much trouble to fly around the castle once?" Hermione asked uncomfortably.  "I'd just like to see how the reconstruction is going…"</p><p>The Thestral screamed eerily in assent, then flapped its powerful wings several times to regain altitude.  Closer and closer to the castle they glided, tilting slightly to avoid a collision with any of the walls.  As they veered towards the lake, Hermione leaned her head around to get a better view.</p><p>No time had been wasted in getting Hogwarts back up on its feet.  The Great Hall had been completely rebuilt, as well as almost all of the familiar towers and turrets.  All of the rubble had been cleared away—Hermione vaguely remembered someone telling her that Hogwarts would be rebuilt as much as possible with the stones from which it had been initially constructed—and she could see robe-clad students hurrying from place to place in the courtyards and under the arcades, clutching armfuls of books.  The chill that the icy wind left on her cheeks where tears streaked alerted Hermione to the fact that she was more affected by the recovery of her beloved school than she could have imagined.</p><p>"Thank you," she whispered to the Thestral, which responded with a guttural warble, then began to glide slowly down to the ground, coasting around one of the towers until it was low enough to land softly on the far edge of the lawns in front of the Great Hall.  Hermione climbed off, patted it tentatively on the head, and, after a moment of watching, followed the Thestral as it trotted off towards the edge of the Forbidden Forest.</p><p>"Now, yeh don' want yer eye contact to break when yeh bow to a Hippogriff, see," she heard a familiar voice say, as the Thestral broke into a canter and disappeared into the dense thicket of trees.  At that moment, any thought that Hermione might have had with regards to sneaking into the castle unnoticed was lost, when several students who had caught sight of the Thestral galloping off (ones who had no doubt seen some of the worst of the battle the previous year), turned and spotted her.</p><p>"<em>Hermione!"</em></p><p>Buckbeak squawked in annoyance as a flurry of Gryffindor and Hufflepuff third-years rushed around the Hippogriffs assembled, cheering and clamouring to greet their former Prefect.  Hermione flushed in embarrassment as several of them asked her to autograph their <em>Monster Book of Monsters</em>, and politely declined on account of the book’s unpredictable nature.</p><p>"Here now, back up, back up," said Hagrid gruffly, parting the crowd of third-years and engulfing Hermione in a bone-crushing hug that lifted her into the air.  "Great to see yeh, Hermione."</p><p>"You, too, Hagrid," gasped Hermione, stumbling a bit as her feet found the ground again.  "How have things been?"</p><p>"I'll tell yeh everything, after I see this lot knows how ter handle a Hippogriff properly.  Arrived safely, though?  Woulda come after yeh in person, if I didn’t have a class… or sent Buckbeak, but he's got his duties today too, don' yeh?"</p><p>Buckbeak responded by affectionately nipping at the end of Hermione's bushy ponytail.</p><p>"Tha's a good boy, Beaky," chortled Hagrid.  "Happy to see an old friend, yeh know.  Hermione here saved Buckbeak's life," he added to the class, raising his voice.  "Mounted a whole legal defence on his behalf, when she was only yer year."</p><p>"It was nothing," muttered Hermione, flushing again as Hagrid beamed at her.  "And, I mean, the defence failed, didn't it…"</p><p>"Ah, well, yeh couldn' control what folks heard it, an' it would've won in any other situation," said Hagrid generously.  "Here, show these students how to handle a Hippogriff, before yeh head over to talk to the Headmistress.  Go on, then…"</p><p>Still embarrassed, Hermione stepped awkwardly into the small clearing made by the reluctantly retreating third-years, looked Buckbeak square in the eyes, bowed slowly, and backed up a few steps, maintaining eye contact as she did so.  Buckbeak sank into a deep bow, then rose and clicked his beak happily a few times as the third-years roared their approval.</p><p>"Thatta girl, Hermione!" boomed Hagrid as the third-years partnered off with their own Hippogriffs and Hermione departed with a grin and a sheepish wave.  "I'll see yeh after classes are done, then?"</p><p>Hermione may have thought that the worst embarrassments of the day were past, but as she attempted to skirt past the greenhouses unnoticed, a number of students rushed to the door to shout their greetings, and Professor Sprout only half-heartedly tried to restrain them, waving cheerfully herself.  Halfway across the Great Hall, she encountered Professor Flitwick, who swept into a deep bow and wrung her hand, and while trying to remember how exactly to reach the Headmistress's Office, she narrowly avoided a run-in with Professor Slughorn, whom she only avoided by virtue of hearing his voice around the next corner and beating a hasty retreat.</p><p>A moving staircase later, Hermione found herself somewhere near the Ravenclaw common room.  Cursing under her breath, and wishing for the first time in her life that she had been sent to Dumbledore’s office even half as many times as Harry had, she was about to retrace her steps all the way back to the Great Hall and start over, when she heard a familiar voice.</p><p>"Is that Hermione Granger?"</p><p>"Hi, Luna!" called Hermione, relieved, as Luna wandered down a nearby staircase in chartreuse robes and her radish earrings, a handful of pastel-tinted tapers dangling by their wicks from one hand.  "How are you?"</p><p>"Oh, well, seventh year has its challenges, but that was only to be expected," Luna replied.  "And at least Knackerbugs didn’t infest the castle over the summer, like people thought they might, on account of the spectral Snarfuggles that usually haunt battlegrounds."</p><p>"Er, yes, that is a relief," agreed Hermione diplomatically.  "Listen, Luna, I've been trying to find Professor McGonagall's office for the past twenty minutes, but I keep on getting turned around.  You couldn't point me in the right direction, could you?"</p><p>"It's down there," Luna pointed vaguely through the floor with her tapers.  "But I'm going down to the memorial garden, which is just a few floors past.  Do you want me to show you the way?"</p><p>"I… sure, thanks, Luna.  Do you need help carrying all of those?"</p><p>"No, I don't think so," said Luna, drifting past.  "I never have before, in any case, and the weight of a candle tends not to change on its own too spontaneously."</p><p>"What do you use them for?" asked Hermione.</p><p>"To keep the spirits of the dead company," replied Luna happily.  "I like candles, at any rate, and I think I'd still like to see them glowing brightly, even after I can't light them myself anymore.  You haven't seen the memorial garden yet, have you?"</p><p>"I haven't, no."</p><p>"Hmm.  If you're late to a meeting, then today might not be the best time for a visit.  Still, it's very nice and quiet.  You can go there to reflect on things without being disturbed.  It's right near where the Whomping Willow used to be, if you know where that was."</p><p>"All too well," said Hermione wryly.  "Wait, what do you mean, 'used to be'?"</p><p>"Oh, it was crushed by part of the Ravenclaw tower, when it collapsed during the battle," explained Luna in her usual, matter-of-fact manner.  "The garden was set up by the parents of the fourth-year girls who were in the tower at the time, but it's really a memorial for everyone who died.  Their names are all listed on the tiles that pave the walkway through the garden.  Including Ronald's brother, one of the funny ones," she added.</p><p>Hermione opened her mouth to say something, but only could croak and so gave up after a moment or two.</p><p>"Well, I can understand if you don't have time, this visit," continued Luna.  "But you should come back sometime.  Everyone who goes and sits in the garden for a while says that they come out with a greater sense of closure about everything.  Lots of students do, at any rate, and faculty as well.  Professor Sprout usually pretends she's going in there to garden, but she often ends up just sitting on one of the benches, having a nice cathartic cry.  I think it makes her feel much better, which is good.  She does do a lovely job with the flowers, too."</p><p>"So it's been very different this year, then?" Hermione asked when she had finally found her voice again.  "After the battle, and everything?"</p><p>"Oh, yes.  But it would have been very different, anyway, even without so much of the castle only just rebuilt."</p><p>Luna noticed Hermione’s confusion and smiled kindly.</p><p>"You three weren't here last year, of course, which was sad for many of us, although obviously it was quite good for the sake of the world.  But it really wasn't very pleasant having Professor Snape for a Headmaster.  He did a terribly good job of pretending to be evil.  And the Carrows were just horrible."  Luna shuddered, uncharacteristically.  "Even Professor Umbridge seemed like a considerate person by comparison, and she was awfully dreadful in her own way, as you probably remember.  In any case, it's quite a relief to be back this year, with everything just as pleasant and secure-feeling as it was when Professor Dumbledore was Headmaster, even if a little bit sadder at times."</p><p>"Well, I'm glad that you think so, Miss Lovegood," said Professor McGonagall's voice from behind them.  "That has been one of our top objectives this year, after all."</p><p>"Here's Professor McGonagall," Luna pointed out unnecessarily as she and Hermione turned about.  "And her office is just down this corridor.  I don't suppose you need further directions now, though."</p><p>"No, but thanks anyway, Luna."  It being Luna, Hermione wasn't sure whether to give her a hug or to shake her hand formally, and compromised by patting her on the shoulder.  "Come visit us in London sometime?"</p><p>"That would be very nice, thanks," said Luna smiling.  "And please say hello to Harry and Ronald for me, too.  If you see Harry at all, that is.  I hear you're living with Ronald now, at any rate, so I assume you see him.  But I do hope Harry's not too lonely, on his own, and with Ginny here at Hogwarts.  Make sure that he doesn't get into too much trouble, won't you, and that the Nargles aren't taking his things behind his back?"</p><p>"I will, I promise," said Hermione, smiling back.  "Take care, Luna, and enjoy the garden."</p><p>Professor McGonagall watched Luna amble off, trying not to smile too obviously.</p><p>"I don’t think I'm any closer to understanding that girl than I was on her first day of class," she remarked, "but I suppose everyone needs a happy mystery or two in life.  And how are you, Miss Granger?"</p><p>"Fine, Professor, thanks."</p><p>"Apparently so."  Professor McGonagall strode past her, towards the stone gargoyle that guarded her office door.  "The Minister for Magic seems quite pleased with the work that you've been doing, from the occasional owls that pass between us.  Bannockburn," she added to the gargoyle, which sprang aside as the wall behind it slid open.</p><p>"That'a very kind of him, although we've only just begun," Hermione said as she followed the Headmistress up the spiralling stairs.</p><p>"I assure you that no one at this school could be surprised to hear Kingsley give you such a glowing review."  Professor McGonagall paused on the top step with her hand on the doorknob of the office's door.  "Nor can I confess to being shocked at hearing that you and Ron Weasley are cohabiting in London…"</p><p>"Oh, that," Hermione said hurriedly, flushing, but Professor McGonagall interrupted her.</p><p>"Mainly because Molly has been simply beside herself with joy over the prospect of your finally becoming an official part of their family," she finished with a smile, opening the door and gesturing Hermione inside.  "And please pass my congratulations on to your fiancé, as well."</p><p>Hermione was about to express her thanks, but as she entered the office, her jaw dropped slightly at the sight of Severus Snape’s face smirking back at her from the wall.</p><p>"Didn't anyone ever inform you that it's impolite to stare, Granger?" asked the portrait idly.</p><p>"Of course, Professor, I just… I hadn't expected… last time I was here, you weren't…"</p><p>"At its first meeting over the summer, the School Board unanimously voted to have Professor Snape's portrait instated in the Headmistress's Office," Professor McGonagall explained.  "He was, after all, a Headmaster of Hogwarts, albeit one whose tenure I don't recall with particular relish," she added, raising an eyebrow at the portrait.</p><p>"We all had our parts to play, Minerva," Snape replied coolly.  "As I've explained many times before, the only possible way I could guarantee with complete certitude that the Dark Lord would not suspect my true allegiance was for me to act towards the students and the staff and yourself…"</p><p>"In the most heartless, cruel, and academically irresponsible manner possible, I know," interrupted Professor McGonagall bitterly.</p><p>"Not <em>all</em> of us can afford to be popular, you know," began Snape, but another familiar voice cut him off.</p><p>"Passionate as I know you both are about the events of the past year, I feel I should remind you that we have an honoured guest in our midst," said Albus Dumbledore pleasantly from his own portrait.  "Welcome back to Hogwarts, Hermione."</p><p>"Thank you, Professor," said Hermione gratefully as Professor McGonagall and Snape's portrait sniffed haughtily at each other.</p><p>"Minerva's told us that you've done some outstanding work already for this… dear me, could you remind me of your commission's exact name?"</p><p>"The Ad-Hoc Commission on Magical Crimes Against Humanity," recited Hermione promptly.</p><p>"And I'm sure everyone appreciates that you chose a name that rolls so easily off the tongue," sneered Snape.</p><p>"Don't make me feel I must Silence you, Severus," snapped Professor McGonagall, pulling her wand from beneath her robes.</p><p>"And I hear that you've come to collect some testimony from Minerva and Rubeus and Poppy," continued Dumbledore loudly over his bickering successors.</p><p>"Yes," said Hermione, glancing at Professor McGonagall, who was stuffing her wand back into her robes as she glowered at Snape’s portrait.  "I apologise that only testimony from living individuals can be used at the trial, Professor."</p><p>"No trouble," replied Dumbledore breezily.  "I'm only sorry that not all of the individuals with whom you wished to speak were able or willing to do so."</p><p>Hermione wasn't sure that she regretted this at all.  Professor Flitwick was such a jovial fellow that Hermione almost imagined that anything that Umbridge had said or done would have slid off like water from a duck's back.  Firenze still made Hermione slightly uneasy, with his aloof manner, and in any case, he had recused himself from testifying on the grounds that he knew how the trial would come out, anyway.  Professor Trelawney had hastily used the same excuse, although Hermione strongly suspected that her main motive was to avoid thinking about Umbridge again for the rest of her life.</p><p>"Well, shall we get to it?" asked Professor McGonagall briskly.</p><p>With a small wave to Dumbledore's portrait, Hermione followed the Headmistress across the circular room, examining the changes that had come over the office since it had been Dumbledore's.  The whirring silver contraptions that had once stood on the shelves and tables had disappeared during Snape's reign, and had since been replaced with an assortment of leather-bound books, neat stacks of papers, a few potted plants, and the sundry tartan-patterned biscuit tin.  She was surprised, however, to see that the perch on which Fawkes the Phoenix had once roosted, remained where it had always stood.</p><p>"Fawkes isn't still around, is he?" she asked.</p><p>"Sadly, no," sighed Professor McGonagall, coming to stand next to Hermione.  "But we professors aren’t completely immune to our moments of sentimentality.  Severus put the stand discreetly aside, where none of us noticed it on the very infrequent occasions that we were called up here, and I didn't quite have the heart to get rid of it, when the office became mine again.  Fawkes was always an integral part of the Hogwarts that I knew, after all.  It's odd to know he won’t be back."</p><p>Perhaps it was a trick of the light, but Professor McGonagall suddenly looked uncharacteristically old to Hermione, more worn and tired, even though her hair was only slightly greyer than it had been during their sixth year.  But then, Hermione reflected, Luna was right: For all that she and Harry and Ron had suffered while hunting Horcruxes over the past year, they had avoided the trauma of confronting a Hogwarts occupied by Death Eaters, a Hogwarts without Fawkes, a Hogwarts without Dumbledore.  That, in some ways, had to have been more disturbing than rushing into the unknown, fully aware of the danger.</p><p>"Well, sentimentality won't change anything," sighed Professor McGonagall finally.  "If you don’t mind speaking in here, Miss Granger..."</p><p>She led Hermione through a side door into her personal chambers, and gestured Hermione towards a pair of armchairs by a crackling fire, closing the door behind them.</p><p>"I hope you’ll excuse the extreme informality of all of this," said Professor McGonagall, seating herself opposite Hermione.  "But I can't very well ask all of the portraits to go somewhere else while I give private testimony.  Being Headmistress is of course a great privilege, but at the same time, I suddenly no longer have the advantage of a classroom or even an office to call completely my own.  Tea?"</p><p>"No, thank you," said Hermione, who had been wishing that Ron kept their flat half as tidy as Professor McGonagall kept her living quarters.  "I apologise for intruding, Professor."</p><p>Professor McGonagall waved a hand at Hermione.</p><p>"No trouble at all.  And I should mention that, as I'm no longer your professor, you may call me Minerva, if you wish."</p><p>"I... all right," said Hermione, flustered, as she rummaged in her bag for a sheaf of parchment and a Ministry-issue recording quill.  "Although I did want to talk to you about that, Professor... Minerva.  I haven’t <em>technically</em> graduated from Hogwarts yet, and I was wondering if I might be able to come back and finish taking my required classes after this commission wraps up?"</p><p>Professor McGonagall raised both eyebrows.</p><p>"Hermione, you <em>did</em> recently save Britain and possibly all of Europe from the clutches of a psychopathic madman, if you hadn't noticed," she pointed out.  "I think you've more than demonstrated your competence with school-level magic, not to speak of several types of magic well beyond the Hogwarts curriculum."</p><p>"Yes, but... but the formalities of it all!" fretted Hermione.  "I appreciate everyone's confidence in me, but is it really legitimate for me to receive a diploma from an institution like Hogwarts if I haven't actually learned the required material and passed all of my NEWTs yet?  I would feel guilty about it, frankly."</p><p>Professor McGonagall covered her face wearily with a hand.</p><p>"If you're really <em>that</em> worried about it, I'm sure we can work something out," she said, "although I honestly don't think it's necessary.  Frankly, I suspect that you could probably study on your own and pass your NEWTs with no trouble, but I'm sure that any and all professors at Hogwarts would be happy to answer any questions that you have with the material.  Or maybe the Ministry will have equivalent courses taught through the Auror Department, so that you can stay in London?  That way, you can keep an eye on Ron Weasley, and spare yourself the awkwardness of feeling horribly out of place amongst students considerably younger than you."</p><p>"Thank you, Professor," said Hermione, relieved.  She could almost imagine Ron's jaw dropping when he heard that she had willing signed up for a further year of school.</p><p>"My pleasure," sighed Professor McGonagall with a touch of exasperation.  "Do you have everything you need?"</p><p>"I think so, yes," said Hermione, spreading her parchment in front of her and balancing the quill on top of it.  She cleared her throat.  "I've been instructed to inform you that any testimony that you give during this interview may be used in prosecutorial proceedings against the defendant, in accordance with Ministry standards.  You will have the opportunity at the end of this interview to determine if you would prefer your testimony to remain anonymous or not.  Do you understand?"</p><p>"Yes," replied Professor McGonagall crisply.</p><p>"Thank you," said Hermione as the quill registered the response and began transcribing.  "Your name, please?"</p><p>"Minerva McGonagall."</p><p>"Profession?"</p><p>"Headmistress of Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry."</p><p>"First place and date of contact with the defendant, Miss Dolores Jane Umbridge?"</p><p>"Hogwarts, sometime in autumn of 1934."</p><p>The quill scribbled down the answer and paused expectantly as Hermione blinked in surprise.</p><p>"Autumn of 1934?" she repeated, incredulous.</p><p>"I do hope you're not mentally calculating my age, Hermione?" said Professor McGonagall coolly.  "Yes, autumn of 1934.  We were in the same year."</p><p>"I hadn't realised," said Hermione, trying to imagine eleven-year-old versions of both McGonagall and Umbridge.  She looked back down at her standardised list of questions.</p><p>"Have you maintained frequent contact with the defendant since your first encounter?" she continued.</p><p>"Not substantial contact, and not by choice," said Professor McGonagall shortly.</p><p>Hermione looked up.</p><p>"Would it be rude to ask you to elaborate?" she said apologetically.</p><p>"Well, somewhat frequent encounters during school, due to the fact that we had several classes together and were often required to interact."  Professor McGonagall smiled vindictively.  "I also remember once hexing her quite magnificently outside of class, but that was a one-time occurrence and doesn't necessarily need to go in your report."</p><p>As she found herself staring slightly agape at Professor McGonagall, Hermione was quite glad that she had brought a recording quill to take her notes for her.</p><p>"So she was always a piece of work?" she asked, off-script.</p><p>"A 'piece of work' is a generous phrase when it comes to Dolores Umbridge, but yes, you could say so," replied McGonagall scornfully.  "I thankfully didn't encounter her as frequently after we left Hogwarts, but I occasionally saw her at the Ministry when our paths crossed there..."</p><p>"What was she doing at the Ministry?" asked Hermione, more curious by now than anything else.  "And what were <em>you</em> doing there?"</p><p>"She was licking the boots of anyone in power arrogant or idiotic enough not to run in the opposite direction when they saw her coming.  And I was an Auror at the time."</p><p>"You were an Auror?" repeated Hermione, incredulous.</p><p>"You needn’t act so surprised," said Professor McGonagall, raising an eyebrow at Hermione.  "Yes, I was an Auror, and a rather effective one, at that.  And then Dumbledore asked me to take over as Transfiguration professor when he became Headmaster, oh, some fifty years ago, and I had the good fortune of not seeing Umbridge again until she was so rudely thrust upon us by the Ministry."</p><p>"Well," said Hermione, impressed.  Feeling awkward that she had known so little about the witch who had been tasked with her well-being for six long years, she looked down at her list of questions again.</p><p>"And, during the time that you were in contact with the defendant, did you ever hear or see her make discriminatory remarks towards or about Muggle-borns, Muggles, or non- or partially-human individuals, including but not limited to werewolves, mermaids, centaurs, giants, leprechauns, dwarves, or goblins?"</p><p>Professor McGonagall looked up at the ceiling.</p><p>"I assume that you'll want a brief answer to this question, as you have two more faculty members to interview tonight.  In short, yes, she was not shy about raising her voice against anyone who was, from her perspective, abnormal—which is to say, anyone other than so-called 'pureblood' witches or wizards, preferably from prominent families.  I'm sure that Hagrid can give you more details specifically, but any of us—myself, Hagrid, or Poppy—can tell you that Umbridge behaved in this manner even when she was a student.  She never missed an opportunity to be rude and quite inappropriate to Hagrid, or to a close friend of mine who was Muggle-born; and I suspect that Poppy, who was a year behind me, received similar treatment, to the extent that she interacted with Umbridge, as well."</p><p>"Noted," said Hermione, who was now trying to wrap her head around the idea that a number of the Hogwarts faculty and staff had overlapped each other's tenure as students.  "Er, now for questions about her behaviour as a professor and Headmistress of Hogwarts."</p><p>Professor McGonagall's nostrils flared, and she nodded.</p><p>"Were you aware of the fact that she was in the habit of forcing students to write lines with a Blood Quill?" Hermione asked tentatively.</p><p>Professor McGonagall's usually rigid posture seemed to crumple a bit.</p><p>"Of course I knew," she said dully.  "Not as early on as I should have, but by the time she became Headmistress, it was a well-established fact.  I regret that I never confronted her openly about it, more than I can say."  She frowned.  "Did you know that in some legal jurisdictions, a bystander with the reasonable ability to prevent a crime from occurring, can be held legally liable for the crime if he or she does not attempt to prevent it?"</p><p>"It wasn't your fault, Professor!" said Hermione, stricken.  "What could you have done, anyway, since the Ministry was propping her up, and not even Dumbledore could have sacked her?"</p><p>"I don’t know," Professor McGonagall admitted quietly.  "But I wish that I had done <em>something</em>."</p><p>"There were the fireworks," Hermione reminded her.  "That was an instance in which doing nothing seems to have paid off quite well."</p><p>"How could I have forgotten?"  Professor McGonagall smiled conspiratorially at Hermione.  "That afternoon was probably the highlight of my entire year, come to think of it.  But I'm no longer answering your questions.  Regarding Umbridge's tenure as a professor and as Headmistress of Hogwarts, it was frankly quite an insult to those of us who take teaching and knowledge seriously.  She never showed a jot of respect for her subject or for her students, and in fact seemed to take it as a badge of pride that she knew so little about the field that she had been tasked to instruct.  And as Headmistress... well, let's just say that her primary objective seemed to be self-promotion and rule by terror, more than any genuine desire to hold the school to any standard of academic achievement.  Speaking from recent experience, I've found that maintaining the trust and confidence of the individuals with whom I work on a daily basis is paramount to making Hogwarts function effectively, and Umbridge's attempts to win our trust and confidence could be at best described as non-existent, and at worst as thuggish and threatening."</p><p>Professor McGonagall broke off, scowling, and shot a spell at the kettle hanging over the fire with such vigour that it clanged loudly against the side of the fireplace.</p><p>"Tea," she explained tersely.  "Again, I'm sure that Hagrid would have much more to say on the subject of Umbridge and her inquisition of Hogwarts students and staff, but here's my two Knuts on the matter:  Her tenure was marked by willful academic incompetence, combined with active malice towards the institution and a propensity for torturing and intimidating students and faculty alike with various physical and psychological devices.  And, although I'm only acquainted with her later doings at the Ministry by hearsay, my impression is that her time there involved much of the same."</p><p>"Thank you," replied Hermione as her quill screeched to a halt on its page and sprayed a fine mist of ink over her hand as it did so.  "Then my last question for you concerns the attack that the defendant orchestrated on you personally.  Could you describe that night?"</p><p>Professor McGonagall sniffed.</p><p>"Quite simple:  I saw that Umbridge and her minions were attempting to physically disable and arrest a member of the Hogwarts faculty with no justification; I tried to intervene; and I was struck down and had to be hospitalised at St Mungo's until I was physically able to resume my duties at Hogwarts."</p><p>Hermione waited.</p><p>"Struck down with five Stunning spells to the chest, unprovoked," she added when Professor McGonagall did not.  "Did anyone ever mention to you that we saw the whole incident from the Astronomy Tower?"</p><p>"Dare I even ask what you were doing up there?" sighed Professor McGonagall.</p><p>"Our practical OWL for Astronomy, actually."</p><p>"Something other than sneaking about after hours, for once," said Professor McGonagall, impressed.  "Well, then, you can fill in the details better than I can, probably.  It all passed by in a bit of a blur from my perspective."</p><p>"Aren't you angry?" Hermione blurted out.</p><p>"More for Hagrid’s sake than for my own," replied Professor McGonagall, shrugging and fetching the tea kettle from where it was whistling on the fire.  "It was a nuisance to be bedridden for so long, of course, but there doesn’t seem to have been any serious lasting harm.  The ones to be pitied are those who were driven out of their homes by that toad... Hagrid and Dumbledore, and to some extent Sybill, poor thing."  She pursed her lips pensively as she poured hot water into mugs for herself and Hermione.  "I think that that's what really made me so upset about the whole situation, was that Umbridge was perverting what Hogwarts was for the people who needed it most as a safe haven.  I should include Harry in that group, as well, of course."</p><p>Hermione nodded, remembering what Luna had said earlier about the psychological stress of coping with the Carrows at Hogwarts.</p><p>"Is there anything else you'd like to add?" she asked instead.</p><p>"Not in particular, unless you'd like to have a long string of epithet-laced vitriol on the record," said Professor McGonagall dryly.  "But I do hope you'll stay for tea, and perhaps a biscuit or two?  I'd actually be quite interested to hear more about this commission of yours, without Severus commenting snidely in the background..."</p><p>Hermione reached Hagrid's hut slightly ahead of time, and so sat on an overgrown pumpkin in the patch, looking up at the dimming sky.  She supposed she shouldn't have been surprised by everything that she had heard Professor McGonagall say—it was, after all, quite similar to the sentiments that she and Ron and Harry and expressed to each other more times than they could count, and the then-Transfiguration professor’s loathing of her imposed colleague was anything but subtle.  Still, it was oddly validating to have a respected adult voice such opinions, and then some.  As Professor McGonagall had given Hermione permission to affix her name to her testimony without a moment's hesitation, the Headmistress clearly was quite proud of the extent to which she disdained Umbridge and everything she had done, and would be more than happy for the world to know.</p><p>"Sorry I'm late," boomed Hagrid as his massive silhouette loomed up behind Hermione.  "Hope yeh haven' been waiting here too long?"</p><p>"Not at all," said Hermione, grinning as she followed Hagrid into his familiar, cosy hut.  Fang leapt up when he saw Hermione and practically knocked her over, slobbering excitedly.</p><p>"Down, Fang," barked Hagrid.  "Tea, Hermione?"</p><p>"No, thank you, just had some with Professor McGonagall," Hermione said quickly, thankful to have an honest excuse with which to avoid one of Hagrid's rock cakes.  "How have you been, Hagrid?"</p><p>"Doin' well, doin' well," said Hagrid, sitting down at the table with a sigh.  "It's been rough, yeh know, rebuildin' everythin' from the ground up, but folks've been real supportive of each other, and tha's what counts, in the end.  And it's not been the same withou' you three, of course, but life goes on, and given the important things yeh're doin' in London, I suppose I shouldn' complain," said Hagrid, his beetle-black eyes crinkling with pride as he beamed at Hermione.</p><p>"Doing my best," she said sheepishly.</p><p>"Well, it doesn' take a Goblin to know tha's a sight better than anyone else's best," said Hagrid.  "How've yeh been?  And how's Harry and Ron?"</p><p>"Fine," said Hermione, and meant it.  "London is lovely, and we're all doing very well.  But it's sort of odd, in a way, to not have to worry about the big things anymore.  After so many years of actively worrying about Harry dying in some horrible fashion—or Ron, or any of us, really—it's a bit jarring to suddenly realise that my biggest worries are whatever project I've got on my plate at the office, and whether Ron remembered to pick up crumpets on his way home.  Which isn't a bad thing at all, really, but it just feels so... so <em>normal</em>."</p><p>Hagrid nodded thoughtfully.</p><p>"Yeah, I can remember feeling sorta the same way after Grindelwald was defeated," he said.  "Like the tension went out of daily life, after the war ended."</p><p>"But not this time?"</p><p>"Ah, well, this time the war's hit closer to home," sighed Hagrid, rubbing Fang between the ears as the boarhound drooled contentedly onto Hagrid's knee.  "Been a bit harder ter forget all of the fightin', and all of the good people who died..."</p><p>Hagrid's eyes filled with tears, and he tugged his spotted handkerchief from his coat pocket and blew his nose loudly.</p><p>"Sorry," he sniffed.  "But I still sometimes begin class expecting ter see students who we lost during the battle, even this far into the term."</p><p>"Oh, Hagrid..."</p><p>"And then not havin' Dumbledore here is hard," Hagrid continued.  "Didn' realise how much he made Hogwarts what it was for me.  Thought it'd be easier than it's been, even with all the rest of the faculty back to being decent, good-hearted folk, mostly."</p><p>Hermione suspected that the qualification was connected to Slughorn, but decided not to ask.</p><p>"Well, if you're ever down in London, do let us know," she said instead.  "It might be nice for you to take a bit of a holiday, away from Hogwarts, and Harry and Ron would so love to see you."</p><p>Hagrid smiled tearfully, and clapped Hermione on the shoulder with such force that she had to catch herself on the edge of the table.</p><p>"It's good ter have yeh back, Hermione," he said.  "So, how can I help?"</p><p>Hermione fetched some fresh parchment and her quill and, after giving Hagrid the same disclaimer that she had given Professor McGonagall, she started the same series of questions.</p><p>"When did I first meet Umbridge?" Hagrid frowned.  "Crikey, must've been sixty years ago, or summat.  Dunno if we were ever really introduced, but she was a few classes ahead of me, and she knew who I was, although I'm not sure if I knew who she was, at the time."</p><p>"What do you mean?" asked Hermione, frowning.</p><p>"Well, most everyone knew who <em>I</em> was," said Hagrid, shrugging.  "Couldn' really blend into the crowd, if I'd tried.  But I jus' knew her and her friends as some older Slytherins."</p><p>"Did you interact much then?  Or since, as well—that's one of the official questions, whether you've maintained contact with the defendant since your first meeting."</p><p>"Nah, not much," said Hagrid.  "We weren' friendly."</p><p>A dark cloud had fallen across Hagrid’s brow, and he seemed to tense inwards, making his huge mass seem suddenly smaller.  Hermione glanced up at him, concerned.</p><p>"Hagrid... she didn't <em>bully</em> you, did she?"</p><p>Hagrid shrugged.</p><p>"Guess you could call it that," he said gruffly.</p><p>"So her behaviour as Headmistress wasn't at all surprising to you?" Hermione asked, skipping ahead in her line of questioning.</p><p>"Yeah, guess not.  Woulda hoped she'd have changed over the past fifty years, but some people never grow out of being nasty."  Hagrid frowned.  "Didn' know she was going to be so awful to everyone, though.  Tha' surprised me more than anything else."</p><p>"But... hang on, there's a question I'm supposed to ask you..."  Hermione flipped through her notes and found her list of questions again.  "About discriminatory remarks, and whether you ever heard Umbridge make them at any point in time that you knew her."</p><p>Hagrid raised his eyebrows.</p><p>"Yeah, of course," he said mildly.</p><p>"How can you say that so matter-of-factly, 'of course'?" snapped Hermione.</p><p>Hagrid smiled sadly.</p><p>"Hermione, yeh don' realise how much things've changed for people like me since I was a kid," he said.  "For Muggle-borns, too.  Used ter be a rare day when someone <em>didn'</em> say somethin' rude, 'specially after I was expelled.  She wasn' the only student ter call me a monster or a stupid half-breed, I can tell yeh that.  Nowadays, enough of wizarding Britain knows me or knows of me that they're polite, but every once in a while, when I meet someone my age or older, they're just as likely as Umbridge ter make those sorts of remarks."</p><p>"That's horrid," scowled Hermione as her quill scribbled all of this information down.</p><p>"Tha's jus' life," Hagrid corrected her gently.  "Thing is, each new generation of students at Hogwarts gets nicer an' nicer, an' yeh can' ask for much more, can yeh?"</p><p>Hermione shook her head angrily.</p><p>"It's not enough," she muttered.</p><p>"Well, keep workin' the way yeh have, and things'll have ter come out right," said Hagrid confidently, his eyes crinkling into a proud smile as he clapped Hermione on the back with such force that she nearly fell forward onto the table.</p><p>Madam Pomfrey was supposed to be Hermione's final interview, but when she finally pulled herself away from Hagrid's comfortable fireside and meandered back up towards the Hospital Wing, she found it in a state of disarray.</p><p>"I'm sorry, Miss Granger," shouted Madam Pomfrey over her shoulder as she guided a trembling third-year towards a bed at the far end of the ward.  "Is there any chance you can stay until this has all been sorted out?"</p><p>"I have to be back at the Ministry tomorrow, and the last train leaves in an hour," Hermione explained apologetically.</p><p>Madam Pomfrey settled the nearly hysterical third-year onto the bed and bustled back towards Hermione.</p><p>"Seems a bevy of Gryffindors were pretending to duel one another in their common room and nearly burnt the entire place down," she muttered disapprovingly to Hermione.  "Can't say I'm surprised, Gryffindors being the way they are.  Minerva will be apoplectic.  I hope they didn't damage anything beyond repair, including themselves."</p><p>Hermione nodded with an appropriate degree of sympathy.</p><p>"I really need to attend to this lot, but you wanted to discuss the medical records of the students who came here for treatment after, shall we say, <em>detention</em>," Madam Pomfrey continued.  "I do indeed have a number of documents that I think you should see, but I can't just release them to you, for confidentiality reasons.  I believe that, to gain access, you'll have to formally subpoena them, however that's done, and then I'll be able to send them your way."</p><p>"Noted, and thank you," said Hermione, wondering briefly why Madam Pomfrey couldn't have said as much in an owl.</p><p>Madam Pomfrey shot her an odd look, and then lowered her voice.</p><p>"Rather than limit your request to simply the records of the students in question, I would recommend that you request copies of <em>all</em> Hogwarts medical records involving Dolores Umbridge," she muttered to Hermione.  "It might make for a clearer picture."</p><p>"I... all right, then," Hermione stammered, confused.</p><p>Madam Pomfrey opened her mouth to add another thought, a concerned look creasing her brow, but just then one of the hexed Gryffindors at the other end of the ward began emitting a high whistle like that of a tea kettle, and with a rushed apology and farewell, Madam Pomfrey made her way quickly towards the disturbance.</p><p>Hermione left the ward shaking her head in bemusement at how little the attitude of her former House had changed, recent wars be damned, and that thought occupied her descent back down to Hogsmeade (by Thestral-drawn carriage, this time) and the first part of her ride back to London.  As she was slowly lulled to sleep by the rhythmic rocking and chuffing of the train, her cheek pressed against the smooth wooden wall of her car, Madam Pomfrey's cryptic request returned to Hermione, and she wondered briefly if Umbridge had done even more damage to the staff than they had been aware at the time.</p><p>When the subpoena was finally processed, and Hermione received the documents in question the week before the trial, she was unsurprised to find that she was right.  However, she <em>was</em> surprised by the last document that Madam Pomfrey had provided, the one to which the nurse had clearly been referring when she had mentioned 'a clearer picture'.  And it kept Hermione awake for so long that, when her eyes finally closed, she overslept and nearly arrived late to the start of Dolores Jane Umbridge’s trial the following day.</p><hr/><p>
  <em> <strong>Azkaban</strong> </em>
</p><p>Hermione put the newspaper back down on the bedspread where she had found it and, exhaled slowly.  She stared around the room in the wavering light cast by the lantern and realised suddenly how very small the cell was.  Had Umbridge sat in this very place often, drinking in the dismal view of the tiny corner of the world that was left to her?  For a moment, Hermione felt a sickening surge of guilt.  No-one deserved to be cooped up in such a dark, dingy, hopeless place, even with the Dementors a memory of the distant past.</p><p>As she glanced again at the table, Hermione’s attention was caught by an unexpected flurry of movement, independent of the inconsistent flicker of the lantern.  Curious, she stood and took a step forward, and felt her toe nudge something that skidded across the floor; she stooped and picked up a grimy china plate lying at her feet, scowling at the kitten that stared balefully up from its spotted surface with its enormous blue eyes.</p><p>And, without warning, a surge of hatred bubbled up inside Hermione, stronger than she would have believed herself capable of feeling after all these years.  Images flashed through her mind, like a sort of hideous film trailer: Umbridge interrupting Dumbledore’s welcome speech with her disgusting little '<em>Hem hem'</em>; Harry holding out his bleeding hand for them to examine, while stubbornly insisting that he wasn't going to tell anyone about his latest detention; Umbridge gloating maliciously over the sight of ridiculous, infuriating Professor Trelawney blubbering pathetically into one of her dragonfly-like shawls; Umbridge physically shaking Marietta Edgecombe by the shoulders in a futile attempt to get her to testify against Dumbledore's Army; Umbridge sitting in Dumbledore's chair at dinner; Hagrid bellowing in fury as spells rebounded off of him and Fang leaped about him protectively; McGonagall crumpling to the ground upon the impact of five Stunning Spells to the chest; Mad-Eye Moody's eye swivelling grotesquely in the centre of Umbridge's office door at the Ministry; Umbridge, with her disgustingly sweet way of speaking, threatening to torture Harry, hurling insults at centaurs, promising to sic Dementors on the Muggle-born witches and wizards who were dragged before her corrupt commission…</p><p>A sudden crash alerted Hermione to the fact that she had hurled the kitten plate against the wall of the prison cell.  Startled at her own involuntary reaction, she stared at the broken shards for a moment, breathing heavily, then pulled out her wand.</p><p>"<em>Reparo</em>," she muttered, then cursed under her breath; the anti-magical wards of the cell held as firmly as ever.</p><p>No, Umbridge deserved every hour she had spent in this prison.  Hermione somehow doubted that even Azkaban had been enough to force Umbridge to reflect on her misdeeds, but at least captivity had kept the unrepentant Umbridge from doing even more harm to others.</p><p>Heart still pounding uncharacteristically hard, Hermione knelt down and gathered up the china fragments, then stacked them neatly on the table, on top of the filthy doily.  As she did so, she saw again the movement that had caught her attention initially, and pulled from under the doily a half-hidden photograph, worn and scratched.  She stared unnerved for a moment at a teenage Umbridge, smirking at the side of a wizard who had to be her father; then stared anew as the photographic Dolores violently pushed from the frame a boy who apparently continually attempted to enter the frame, only to have his efforts rebuffed.  It would have been funny, if Hermione didn’t understand exactly what was going on in the photograph.</p><p>She sank slowly into the shawl-draped chair and put the photograph back onto the table, recalling the last time she had seen exactly that photograph—or, rather, that photograph in the complete form that Dolores Jane Umbridge, like so many other things, had never wanted the world to see.</p><hr/><p>
  <em> <strong>London, after the War</strong> </em>
</p><p>Rita Skeeter’s owl arrived several weeks after their meeting in Hogsmeade.  It loomed out of the damp darkness of the winter evening and rapped insistently against the windowpane only inches from where Hermione was curled in a squishy armchair next to a cheerfully crackling fire, reading a novel.  She had just finished untying a thick envelope from the leg of the impatient bird when it was startled by a loud clamour in the next room and sprang into the air, clacking its beak indignantly and soaring out the window into the chilly night.</p><p>"Would you pipe down the percussion recital in there, please?" Hermione shouted at her fiancé as she closed the window tightly, shivering.</p><p>"The what?" Ron’s voice echoed back as several more saucepans clattered to the ground.</p><p>"Oh, never mind," muttered Hermione, pushing herself out of the chair and walking to the kitchen door, tearing open the envelope as she did so.  Ron, who was attempting to boil pasta and failing miserably, was muttering oaths under his breath as he picked various pieces of cookware off the floor, the nape of his neck redder than his hair.</p><p>"You don’t want to take over this whole making-dinner business, do you?" said Ron hopefully.</p><p>Hermione ignored him.  She quickly skimmed the first few pages of the report, her eyebrows rising higher and higher as she did so.</p><p>"You know, I'm tempted to say that Rita fabricated and embellished every word that I'm reading," she said, reading the final lines on the third piece of parchment and sweeping it to the back of her stack.  "But I'm not sure that even she has quite a high enough sense of irony to dream up something like this."</p><p>"Oh?"  Ron shoved the majority of the saucepans back into the cupboard and banged one down onto the stovetop triumphantly.  "What's she claiming about the old toad, then?"</p><p>Hermione flipped back to the first piece of parchment and began paraphrasing Rita's notes.</p><p>"Daughter of a janitor who worked at the Ministry…"</p><p>"A <em>janitor</em>?!"</p><p>"Well, Rita couldn't resist sneaking in that descriptor to elicit that exact reaction.  I guess one would officially call him a 'low-level worker at the Department of Magical Maintenance,' if that's any more flattering," Hermione shrugged.</p><p>Ron snorted.</p><p>"Well, that explains why she and Filch got on so well, then, doesn't it," he sneered.  "He must have reminded her of home."</p><p>"He might have, but not in ways that she would have appreciated."  Hermione smiled mirthlessly.  "According to Rita, when Umbridge started working for the Ministry, she disavowed all associations with her dad, and eventually all but forced him into an early retirement, so he wouldn’t be around to embarrass her."</p><p>"Figures," sighed Ron.  Hermione suspected that he was thinking about his own politically ambitious brother and some of his worse life choices.</p><p>"That's not all."  Hermione flipped back a page or two.  "Umbridge's brother was a Squib, and she hated him."</p><p>"I mean, to be perfectly honest, that's not so unusual, to hate your brother," Ron pointed out.  "If you remember at all what Percy was like over the past few years…"</p><p>"She hated him, and her childhood neighbours recall her saying from an early age that she and her father were superior to her Squib brother and her Muggle mother," Hermione clarified, her eyes darting down to the family photograph pasted to the bottom of that page.</p><p>Ron's mouth was still open to continue his gripe about Percy when Hermione’s statement sunk in, causing his jaw to drop slightly lower.</p><p>"<em>Muggle </em>mother?  Wait, not even Muggle-<em>born</em> mother?"</p><p>"Not even."  Hermione scowled.  "According to the neighbours, they could sometimes hear Umbridge's dad screaming at her mum about how it was her fault that the brother had no magical abilities.  And sometimes, the mum would rush outside and sit on the kerb outside their house, crying, and the brother would come outside to comfort her.  The neighbours say that they sometimes remember the two of them sitting there for hours at a time, as if they couldn’t quite bear to go back inside the house."</p><p>"Blimey," said Ron in a hushed voice.</p><p>"Wait, it gets better… or, actually, worse.  Looks like Umbridge and her dad formally denounced and disowned her mum and brother."</p><p>"What, just for not being magical?" Ron snorted.</p><p>"So it appears.  I have to hand it to Rita, I may think she's a foul, opportunistic person, but she certainly does her research thoroughly when it serves her well," remarked Hermione, pulling from the stack of parchment a copy of an official document, magical seal flashing a dim magenta to indicate that it was an authorised reproduction of the original.  "Take a look at this."</p><p>Ron seized the parchment and began to read it aloud, ruffling one hand unconsciously through his hair so that it stood on end.</p><p>" 'Official Declaration of Separation and Disownment.  Instigators: Orford Umbridge and one underage dependent, Dolores Jane…'  Merlin, she was a co-signer in disowning her family, even at that age?"</p><p>"Wait till you get to the bottom of the page," said Hermione grimly.</p><p>" 'Terms of Separation:  At request of underage dependent of instigating party, memory modification and identity alteration of Ellen Cracknell and her underage dependent…'  Bloody hell."</p><p>Ron angrily tossed the document onto the counter next to the stove.  Hermione started forward to rescue the piece of parchment, and then realised that Ron had never actually gotten around to turning on the burner.</p><p>"Well, she's clearly always been a piece of work, that Umbridge," huffed Ron.  "So she honestly requested that the Ministry modify her mum and brother's memories, and then change their names and stories, so that they’d never know that they were related to her?"</p><p>"It certainly sounds like it."  Hermione scratched her head, frowning slightly.  "I might dig into the archives to make certain that this is an actual document, and not just a very convincing fake…"</p><p>"I hope it isn't," muttered Ron.  "Or, I dunno, maybe I hope it is.  I wouldn't want to push the burden of being consciously related to Umbridge onto anyone, after all…"</p><p>Hermione laughed and kissed him on the tip of his nose.</p><p>"Come on, Won-Won," she teased, tossing the rest of the sheaves of parchment onto the counter.  "Before I finish reading this depressing report, I'm going to teach you how to boil pasta."</p><p>"That's not where I was hoping the end of that sentence was going," pouted Ron, wrapping his arms around her.</p><p>"Well, there's very little that I can do well on very low blood sugar, be it reading reports or anything else that you had in mind," said Hermione sternly, disengaging herself from Ron's embrace and turning the sink faucet on.  "Hand me that saucepan, will you?  The first thing you need to do is to fill it with water…"</p><p>As more and more information about Umbridge was assembled by her team at the Ministry, Hermione's loathing for the witch grew more and more intense.  Every new account of her vicious, obsequious climb through the ranks of the Ministry; every report of a nasty accident experienced by someone who had dared to ask Umbridge if she was related to the prematurely retired janitor with the same surname; every hearsay recollection of remarks made against so-called ‘half-breeds’ in Umbridge’s less-guarded moments—it all made Hermione feel increasingly that she needed to install a punching bag in the corner of her office.  None of the evidence in and of itself was more shocking than anything she already knew Umbridge to be capable of committing; it was the cumulative picture that stunned, the fact that one woman’s life could have been so irredeemably spiteful and malicious.  Rita's research formed just the foundation for an intricate structure of unrelenting self-promotion and hatred.</p><p>"Owl for one Miss Hermione Granger," announced Dean Thomas at the end of the Friday before Umbridge's trial, tossing a thick envelope onto Hermione's already-cluttered desk.</p><p>"Thanks, Dean," muttered Hermione, glancing up from an affidavit that she was skimming and shooting her former classmate a smile.  "Everything all right?"</p><p>Dean nodded.  He had asked Hermione how he could help the first day her Ad-Hoc Commission was announced, and she had found Dean's thoughtfulness and creativity invaluable throughout their months of assembling seemingly endless evidence.  Dean had a knack for brilliant organisation and sequencing, and Hermione had quickly placed him in charge of determining the order in which live witnesses would testify.  (Besides, by this point, more or less everyone working on the trial had some portrait doodle or another of Dean's displayed on their office wall; he had a habit of sketching his colleagues in the margins of his notes, whenever meetings started running too long, and had cycled through the entire Commission team at least twice by this point.)</p><p>"Hogwarts?" he asked, gesturing at the envelope and the crest on the wax seal that stamped its back.</p><p>"Medical records from detention," Hermione explained.  "Had to subpoena them from Madam Pomfrey."</p><p>Dean grimaced.</p><p>"Well, if you need a hand going through what promises to be a nightmarish overview of our fifth year, let me know."</p><p>"I think I'm fine for the initial review, but thank you," sighed Hermione, tossing aside the affidavit and tearing the envelope open so that she could thumb through what had to be at least 400 pages of records.  "Tell you what, I'll skim everything this weekend and let you know on Monday which documents need a more thorough review."</p><p>"Sounds good.  Don't stay too late, Hermione."</p><p>Hermione fully intended to follow Dean's advice, but instead spent the next two hours reading through the first hundred pages from Hogwarts, and then the rest of the neglected affidavit.  (Ron, anxious that Hermione wasn’t home already, eventually resorted to storming over to the Ministry and insisting that Hermione give herself a bit of a rest before she drove herself mad.)  She spent the weekend reviewing what she had brought home, and started off the week by delegating the rest of the medical records to herself and the rest of her team in equal portions.  But even having delegated as much as she felt was reasonable, the final week of preparation was spent re-examining evidence, confirming the order of witnesses, answering press inquiries, and so forth.  Hermione knew that her Commission had built a strong enough case that Umbridge would have to be convicted of the crimes for which she was so irrefutably guilty; but, Hermione being Hermione, that didn't stop her from fretting over the details, nonetheless.</p><p>It wasn't until the night before the trial that Hermione finally got around to reading the rest of the documents that Madam Pomfrey had sent.  Not that she needed to, of course, as her colleagues reminded her over and over, but Hermione had pledged to herself that she would be as thorough in her preparation as humanly possible.  Ron had long since gone to bed, and Hermione was curled up in her armchair near the fire, rubbing her eyes in exhaustion and counting down the number of pages until she could finally go to sleep.  The evidence in the final pages was more and more of the same: students with bloody words oozing from their hands, students turning up with 'accidental' injuries that were clearly the work of the Inquisitorial Squad, students requesting Sleeping Draughts to quell anxiety over the internal reign of terror being conducted at Hogwarts.  Hermione was sickened but unsurprised to see that Madam Pomfrey had even prescribed the Draught of Peace to several professors who were becoming despondent over their inability to protect their students from emotional and physical harm.</p><p>Finally, Hermione reached the final page, and when she saw that the medical report was for Umbridge herself, she froze.</p><p>
  <em>Nobody really knew what was wrong with her either.  Her usually neat mousy hair was very untidy and there were bits of twig and leaf in it, but otherwise she seemed to be quite unscathed...</em>
</p><p>How could she not have seen.</p><p>Maybe it was that Hermione hadn't wanted to see.  After all, Madam Pomfrey—a trusted adult—had told her that Umbridge had just been in shock, so why should Hermione have disbelieved her?  Except that what else would even a trusted adult have told a fifteen-year-old girl?</p><p>
  <em>“Yeah, she shows signs of life if you do this,” said Ron, and with his tongue he made soft clip-clopping noises.  Umbridge sat bolt upright, looking wildly around...</em>
</p><p>And she and Ginny had laughed.</p><p>Hermione tossed the medical report aside, shaking.  It didn't excuse anything that Umbridge done.  It didn't excuse <em>any</em> of it, not the torture of students before, nor the persecution of so many after.  It couldn't even <em>explain</em> everything that had happened, not when Umbridge's prejudices so clearly had long predated that evening in the Forbidden Forest, when the centaurs had abducted her.  But Hermione still remembered her own panic before Grawp's opportune arrival, as the centaurs considered what to do with her and Harry.  Umbridge shouldn't have insulted the centaurs, and she certainly should not have attacked them with magic.  But Hermione—hating herself for having to admit it—could believe that the centaurs were capable of what Madam Pomfrey's report indicated.</p><p>Leaning back in her armchair, Hermione stared into the fire.  They had built a watertight case for Umbridge's guilt already, on the basis of the evidence assembled against her.  Even if this report were to be admitted into evidence, it should have been by Umbridge herself, as a weak defence to her later actions.  Hermione didn't want to perpetuate any negative stereotypes of centaurs as violent and lascivious brutes, especially not now when society needed so desperately to heal itself.  And, much as Hermione wanted to see Umbridge suffer for the rest of her life for the pain that she had caused others, a very small part of her pitied the witch—not the imperious, sadistic High Inquisitor with her simper and her Blood Quill, but the spiteful, lonely woman who reportedly screamed in her sleep from her bed in the Hospital Wing, until the evening she was chased from Hogwarts by Peeves brandishing a sock full of chalk.  Hermione herself had suffered enough trauma as a result of Umbridge and her ilk.  She would not wish that sort of punishment on even her worst enemy.</p><p>Quietly, Hermione slid the page into the fire and watched as the paper blackened from the edges inwards, disintegrating into wisps of grey ash.  She sat in her armchair by the hearth until the embers were glowing low, thinking, and then she wandered into the bedroom and slipped under the covers next to Ron (snoring slightly).  But although Hermione desperately wanted to sleep, her mind was whirring too frantically to allow her any peace.  She snuggled into Ron's back and closed her eyes, feeling very small and sad and lost, unable to fall asleep for hours.</p><p>The trial went exactly as planned the next day.  Hermione and her team had prepared everything as painstakingly as possible; everything went as smoothly as could be imagined.  Hermione sat to the edge of the Wizengamot for hours and hours as the trial dragged on, listening to witnesses present their evidence in quavering voices, sometimes breaking down in tears as the memories became too much to bear.  But she did not feel the gloating thrill of victory that she had expected to experience, at seeing all of her work come to fruition so seamlessly.  Instead, she merely felt indescribably tired and almost empty, as she listened to her witnesses—Umbridge's victims—enumerate the harms done to them.  And the few times Hermione could bring herself to look at Umbridge—seemingly even smaller than usual, seated emotionlessly in the grey robes of a prisoner, devoid of her bows and laces and cardigans and insipid frippery—the hatred that normally would have surged within Hermione merely flickered.  When asked towards the end of the trial if she had anything to say in her defence, Umbridge stood and merely shook her head, her bulging eyes locked on Hermione's and burning with loathing.  And Hermione stared back, inexpressibly glad that this was the last time she would ever have to set eyes on Umbridge.</p><p>"A prosecution for the ages," Kingsley muttered to Hermione, clapping her on the shoulder.  It was late, and the torches flickered in the hallways behind the dungeon where the Wizengamot held all of its high-profile trials.  "Well done, Hermione."</p><p>"Thanks, Minister," replied Hermione wearily.</p><p>"I know it's been a lot of work and a lot of pressure on you," Kingsley continued, "but you've handled everything just as gracefully and brilliantly as we all expected.  And I hope you feel very proud of the justice that was done here today.  You wouldn't believe the number of Ministry workers who have approached me during breaks throughout the trial, expressing how relieved they are to see the Ministry acting more like its former self.  You've taken a very important first step towards setting things right for all of us."</p><p>Hermione, thinking of Hogwarts, felt tears building behind her eyes and nodded.</p><p>"Go home and get some rest," Kingsley advised her kindly, sensing Hermione's exhaustion even if not its cause.  "And send me an owl, if I forget to send you one within the next few days.  We ought to discuss your next steps, should you wish to stay at the Ministry after this commission finishes its work.  You'd be a tremendous asset to the Department of Magical Law Enforcement, if that interests you at all."</p><p>But did it?  Hermione dragged herself home, wondering if all prosecutions were this draining.  She knew that what her team had done today was <em>just</em>, knew that it was <em>right</em>.  Hermione wouldn't have had it any other way.  She truly was proud of the day's work, even relieved; but she somehow didn't feel happy.  When Ron cheerfully arrived home, bearing Butterbeer and Firewhiskey and an enormous bag of sweets gifted from George, Hermione simply walked into his arms and quietly sobbed.</p><hr/><p>
  <em> <strong>Azkaban</strong> </em>
</p><p>And perhaps that was what Hermione had truly come to Azkaban to confront—not the memory of Umbridge herself, so much as the unshakable sense that putting her in prison for life wasn't enough.  Hermione set down the photo of the unhappy Umbridge family and looked around the little cell with its pitiful, tattered lace decorations once more.  Umbridge's story was one of abuse of power, of transforming the institutions that Hermione had always assumed were just and good into unrecognisable negative images of their former selves.  She had been reprehensible, and she had hurt so many people so irreparably, and Hermione had been more than glad to never have to see her again.</p><p>The trial itself, of course, had become a thing of legend.  Kingsley wouldn't stop talking about it in the weeks that followed, and that meant that the press wouldn't stop talking about it; and Hermione found herself identified as the staunchest defender of justice at the Ministry, her face plastered across the front of <em>The Prophet</em> once more in a column next to Rita Skeeter's gloating exposé of the recently condemned.  So many people insisted that the trial of Dolores Umbridge was one of the most important moments of the post-War world, the first in which one of the people formerly in power who had made life so unbearable was held to justice.  And Hermione remained proud of that fact.  After enough years passed, she might even have found it within herself to feel happy about it.</p><p>But that sense had lingered, of somehow having failed.  The best that Hermione had been able to do was lock up a pathetic woman, so filled with hatred and insecurity that she had bullied others to feel important and even cut off her own family to create a false identity for herself.  Stripped of the authority to have others harmed, what had Umbridge been other than a small, weak, bitter witch, consumed by her prejudices and ultimately left with no friends and no supporters?  Without a system that was so easily corrupted and manipulated by the Umbridges of the world, none of this ever would have come to pass.</p><p>And that was the most startling thing, Hermione realised as she sat down on the gnawed pink quilt next to the old newspaper.  Her anger over Umbridge's atrocities paled in comparison to her anger over the systemic failures that had allowed Umbridge to seize and wield such power, in the first place.</p><p>Perhaps that was why Hermione had come to Azkaban, after all.  She had known something about Umbridge that almost no one else had known, a secret that not even Rita Skeeter's most enthusiastic muckraking had unearthed, a secret that had not softened Hermione's opinion of Umbridge in the slightest but had changed her understanding of the witch nonetheless.  Harry had suggested that Hermione had come here to make sure that there were no more monsters hiding under the bed; but Hermione had come here to confirm that the monsters had always been human, after all.  Sitting here amidst Umbridge's pathetic belongings, it was all too easy to remember that Umbridge was not <em>special</em>, Umbridge was not <em>exceptional</em>.  Umbridge was not a monster or a genius, but merely, as Harry had put it, an all-too-human opportunist.  The story that became hers could have belonged to anyone with enough hatred and enough zeal and a solid enough understanding of how to weaponise the institutions at hand.  Umbridge had deserved her prison sentence.  But the system had failed her just as surely, by being malleable enough to permit the wrongs that she had committed.</p><p>Hermione stood and took a final look around the cell, before striding briskly to the door.  She blew out the lantern and left it smoking just inside the cell, then thanked the warden on her way out.  Emerging into the weak sunlight, Hermione was reminded of just how lucky she was to be able to leave the bone-chilling cold of Azkaban with as much ease as she had entered.  She Apparated back to London and, shaking herself, stepped into the phone box that would take her down to the Ministry.</p><p>Harry was waiting for Hermione at her office when she arrived.</p><p>"So?" he asked.  "Did you find what you were looking for?"</p><p>Hermione lowered herself into her chair with a sigh.</p><p>"I think so.  I'm not sure.  But I <em>think</em> I'm glad that I went."</p><p>Harry nodded.</p><p>"Does it ever scare you, Harry?" Hermione asked suddenly.  "To realise, all of a sudden, that they've put <em>us</em> in charge of important things?  I don't know why, but that fact is somehow so much more terrifying to me now, than it was when we were teenagers off saving the world."</p><p>Harry smiled at his friend.</p><p>"Nah, it never scares me," he said quietly.</p><p>"Because you're the Boy Who Lived?" Hermione scoffed, annoyed.</p><p>"No," said Harry levelly.  "Because I know that you'll straighten me out in an instant, if I start doing things wrong."</p><p>Hermione was startled to find that there were tears in her eyes.</p><p>"There's still so much that needs fixing, Harry," she sniffled.  "There's so much hatred in the world.  And I don't know how to make it all right."</p><p>"No one does," Harry reminded her.  "And you're doing your best, which is all that you can do.  To treat everyone fairly, I mean, and to show others why that's so important.  Isn't that the only way to start these things?"</p><p>Hermione nodded.</p><p>"Do you think we're up to the task?"</p><p>"I don't know."  Harry smiled.  "But we have to try, don't we."</p><p>A thought seemed to have struck Harry, and he rummaged in the pockets of his robes.</p><p>"Here, even if the Dementors are gone, you look like you could use this," he told Hermione, handing her a slightly squashed Chocolate Frog.</p><p>Hermione took it, grinning appreciatively.</p><p>"Thanks, Harry."</p><p>Harry nodded and turned to leave, but he paused at the door.</p><p>"As a wise friend once told me," he added, "what will come, will come, and we'll have to meet it when it does.  And we'll be enough, Hermione."</p><p>Hermione tore open the top of the Chocolate Frog as Harry left and took a bite of chocolate.  Her own face waved back at her from the card inside, which Hermione still found equal parts embarrassing and gratifying.  Harry was right.  This was not the first time the fate of the wizarding world had been left in their hands, and they had muddled through the uncertainties the last time, armed with the trust and love of their friends.  Maybe there was no easy way to prevent the Umbridges of the future from existing, but Hermione knew that, with things set right again, they now had to avoid the mistakes of the past by going beyond just <em>right</em> and becoming <em>better</em>.  And they—Hermione and Harry and the rest of their friends who so wanted to make the world as just as possible—had to and would be enough.</p>
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